via Gothamist via somebody’s flickr page
I don’t know how I got talked into throwing out the old air conditioner TWO falls ago before I had actually gotten an iron-clad guarantee that there would be a new one in place when the time came. That time is, uh, NOW. And where is my AC? At PC Richard or maybe Drimmer’s priced approximately two hundred bucks more than it was last week.
Yes, I’m the dumbass who heads out to buy an AC on the hottest day of the year. And I have a history. That’s the really sad part. Hell, my man and I once schlepped one home on the fucking 2/3 train circa 1995.
As of now, I’ve gotten as far in this venture as renewing my Consumer Reports online subscription and spending many fruitless hours looking for a perfect picture for this post. And now it’s too late because I’ve got to pick up the kid and it’s all over but for the crying.
I will take this as a lesson that my a) my penchant for poor planning b) ineffectual honey-do list management and c) deeply-engrained sense of denial and entitlement WILL NOT STAND.